Collateral Damage
by Joliemoi
Summary: Alex returns to SVU once again, forcing Olivia to make a final decision. ********* Femme slash.******** "By the third time you left I knew that I would carry the pain of your departure with me for a while until slipping into the now familiar routine of waiting for your return. That first time was the worst, though, because I had not yet learned that you would always come back."
1. Chapter 1

When your hand brushes my cheek I turn away and take a step backward. My action is deliberate, I have to consciously force my feet to move away from your space when my body wants nothing more than to sink into you. I see your lips pull down into a frown and for a fleeting moment I am astonished at your blatant presumption. I am certain that you have never been turned down in your life and I have not been an exception, that is until tonight.

The last time you left New York I swore to myself that I would stop, if not loving you, then the least I could do for myself was to stop letting you in again and again and again. Contrary to what you might expect I was never angry with you for what you did, at least not for long, because even though I would always end up as collateral damage in the wake of your leaving, I always knew it was the intensity of your love for me that made you run. Or at least that is what I would tell myself, light-headed and numb, after half a bottle of Jack Daniels and the sixth cigarette I had somehow managed to find inside the drawer cabinet. Waking up the next morning was worse than watching you leave, which was really the whole point of my juvenile behavior. I had never been a smoker, the cigarettes were a remnant of an ex girlfriend, safely tugged away behind old books and CDs I never listened to anymore. Combating the pain of your departure with something even more painful took away from its power, and on each of those morning-afters the stench of cold cigarette smoke would make my stomach turn so violently I had to run to make it to the bathroom in time. Throwing up felt like cleansing my body from your poisonous venom.

But unlike 15 years ago, this time your commanding voice does not charm me and your beauty does not blind me. The sight of your blonde hair cascading down your back and the incredible blue of your eyes radiating from behind your glasses is still enough to send shivers down my spine, but this time the ground beneath my feet remains solid and when I look up into your eyes and see your need for me, my heart does not skip and the usual exhilaration fails to surge through me. For an instant I marvel at my strength, surprised that after all these years your presence has lost some of its effect on me. When I take a step back you look surprised and I see a flicker of hurt cross your gaze. You shift your weight from one foot to another and tilt your head so that your hair falls forward and over your shoulder. You still use the same shampoo you did when we first started dating. I realize this when your scent hits my synapses and my brain translates the sweet mixture of vanilla spice and your very own essence as "home". But unlike 15 years ago, my bones feel tired and I am too exhausted for another round of the game of push-and-pull you love playing with me. Your scent may still be "home" for me, but I will not chase after you this time.

There is something that no one has told you yet, it is new and fresh and unlike you she seems dependable. This thing between her and me feels effortless, we simply clicked right away. You and I had so many fights I had stopped counting after the first couple of weeks had passed. And even though Amanda reminds me of you often, she does not share your temper and she does not run away from the people she loves.


	2. Chapter 2

She is neither brash nor cocky and she would not dare to press her lips to mine without warning, invading the space I had fought hard to declare mine only seconds ago. The softness of your lips is almost unbearable and as your mouth touches mine for the first time, a flood of images comes rushing towards me. I recognize its familiarity but contrary to letting the torrent sweep me away like it used to, this time I do not indulge it. I know what would happen if I did, I experienced the storm you can be and the devastation you leave behind. And while the force of you still scares me, I muster the courage to break the contact of our lips and take another step backwards.

You are sly, blessed with intuition that has always been uncanny, so when you reach to cup my cheek and let your thumb caress my skin I wonder whether you are acting on instinct or meticulously work towards my defeat. Physical contact was how you would end our worst fights. Like a blackout after the blowing of a fuse, the sensation of your skin on mine cut off the electric currents in those parts of my brain where I harbored my anger and it rendered me immovable.

You close the distance between us while my thoughts are still lingering and when your lips touch mine for the second time, I brace myself for another flood but find resentment welling up instead.

"Alex, don't…" My voice is almost inaudible as I whisper against your mouth and I swallow hard, trying to will away the fluttering in my stomach and recover some sense of sternness from the ashes of my conviction. I know you pick up on indecisiveness quite easily, and no traces of uncertainty go unnoticed when you have set your sights on someone. The skills that furthered your career did a lot of damage in your private life. Of course you would never admit this and I know better now than to argue with someone who is making a living off of defusing any line of reasoning regardless of its validity. I used to joke that you could smell fear from a mile away. Your nose now is barely an inch from my face and I wonder what my particular terror smells like.

I have no idea whether it was the sound or the weight my words carried that registered with you, but I breathe a sigh of relief when you back away a little, a look of slight disbelief on your face. You recover quickly, though, and as I watch disbelief turn into curiosity right before my eyes I am amazed at how fast you concluded there could be only one reason for my rejection. I am sure you think you hid the twinge of sadness that had crossed your features for the fragment of a second.

Your gaze locks with mine and I do not need to hear you ask who she is, I see the unasked question in your clouded blue eyes, and then the exact moment your brain arrives at the answer. Young and blonde has always been my type and you must have seen her when you first walked into our squad room. Your mouth curls up slightly and I wonder if it is hurt or arrogance that lets your "Good for you" sound hollow in the empty room. When your eyes drop down to scan my hand and then back up, fixing themselves on mine again, a strange mixture of relief and hurt sweeps through me because it seems to be so easy for you to believe I have made a commitment to someone other than you.

I used to believe you and I shared a bond that was inseverable. More than once I had tried to free myself from the invisible threads that bound us together, but at the whisper of your fingertips on my skin my resolve had faltered every time.

The first time you left me it felt like a building collapsed on me. It took me six months to crawl out from underneath the debris and it was during that time that I started crying in my sleep. I would wake up most mornings with my face still wet and my pillow stained from the flood of salted tears. I am almost certain that no one guessed just how much your disappearance really affected me, even though there were times when Elliot saw my bloodshot eyes and puffy skin after one of those nights when only Jack had granted me a few hours of dreamless sleep. He never commented, though, being the macho guy his remedy for any affliction of the heart was hot, strong coffee and a pat on the back that felt more like a punch. I knew it was his way to let me know he saw what you had done.

By the third time you left I knew that I would carry the pain of your departure with me for a while until slipping into the now familiar routine of waiting for your return. That first time was the worst, though, because I had not yet learned that you would always come back.

Your absence still hurt every time because I never knew how long it would last. How many nights I would have to fall asleep against your pillow instead of your body, pressing my nose into the fabric that still held traces of your scent. Trying to keep the cold from creeping underneath my sheets. Your sheets. When you first started sleeping over at my place, I came home once to find you throwing out all of my old mismatched covers and replacing them with new and expensive ones. Back then I took your action for caring and I loved that you paid attention to such small details. It was only when you had left and I had to return to an empty bed that I realized everything in it reminded me of you. Belonged to you.

The thud of the door falling shut behind you pulls me from my thoughts and I shudder despite the heat inside of this room. As I walk out behind you, daylight hits my eyes and I blink, trying to adjust to the sudden change of brightness. From the corner of my eye I see Fin standing up but my eyes drift further until they have found her empty desk. I scan the room quickly, but still the fact that she is not here anymore does not alarm me.

As you are walking away from me, past the desks and towards the elevators, I cannot help but stare at you, transfixed by the soft sway in your hips and the way your skirt hugs your curves in all the right places. You must have gained a few pounds in the two years you were gone this time, not enough for anyone else to notice but I have committed your shape to memory. My mind holds a roadmap of your body and of all its secret spots that make you squirm and writhe beneath me. I like the way your frame looks a bit softer now and I feel a small tug between my legs as I imagine how your hips would now offer me more to grab onto and how the round swell of your ass would push up against my pelvis as I would be pressing you to the wall the way you used to beg me to do.

Grey fabric hides the two small indents right above your ass but I know they are there, and I remember how I used to shower them with kisses, trusting that they were a sacred place where only I got to be. You never told me if you had been with anyone else and I never asked, but as the stretches of time you spent away from me increased, I grew certain that there must have been others. Your need for sex had surpassed even my own, but while I withdrew and imagined your hands and lips whenever I touched myself, I knew you could never go long without craving attention and a warm body pressing yours down into the mattress.

The doors of the elevator close behind you and I jolt when I feel Fin's hand on my arm, giving me a soft nudge.

"Liv, what happened in there?"

I turn back to look at him and find his face concerned instead of the playful expression I expected. My eyes drift past him for a moment and back to her desk, and as I hear his voice telling me she went after us, and then left the precinct looking disturbed, saying there was something she needed to take care of, my knees grow weak and Fin grabs my arm as I trip over an invisible step.

"Shit..." I mutter before sinking down into the chair he has cautiously pushed under me.


	3. Chapter 3

"Liv!" Fin snaps his fingers in front of my face and I squint, trying to focus my gaze on him.

Once he is sure that I am back from my momentary reclusion, he continues: "Cabot put the moves on you again?" He stares at me now and when I open my mouth but close it without saying a word, he tells me to get my shit together.

Fifteen years of the repetitive cycle of frustration and pain, and its solution easily condenses into four words, a piece of advice so simple I almost frown at its banality. He pushes himself off of the desk he leans against and walks over to the coffee maker, turning midway. His eyes find mine again and nodding towards the door he mouths "Go".

Our shift ends in half an hour anyway and I am sure Amaro will cover for me when he hears whatever bullshit excuse Fin will come up with for my leaving early. Besides, it had been a slow day and I was only finishing up on some paperwork when you made your grand entrance. Calling me by my full name while walking up to Cragen's office, you talked to him shortly before heading towards the interrogation rooms. The entire time you never lost the purpose in your walk.

I wonder if you being back took Cragen as much by surprise as it did me, or if someone had given him a heads-up. You never looked back to see if I had gotten up from my chair, you did not wait to see my reaction to your sudden reappearance. You simply trusted that I would come after you like I always had, find you in the empty interrogation room and let you kiss me. Pick up where we had left off. A flash of anger flares up inside of me again and I grab my jacket to head out. I know where I need to go.

Outside the streets are crowded and the sun has just begun to set. I take a deep breath, reassuring myself that this is the right thing to do. The only thing to do. It will take me over an hour to walk to her apartment but I cannot bring myself to take the subway. I am already sick to my stomach and in no shape to expose myself to the pungent smell of public transportation. Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my coat I turn right and take up a brisk walk, hoping the chill of the November air will clear my head and quench the smoldering fire your kiss retrieved from the empty space where your love used to live. My mind may have brushed you off this time, but my body reacted to you the way it always had.

Fifty minutes later night has fallen upon the city and I arrive at her building feeling light-headed and winded. Fear must have spurred me on. I look up, hoping to find light behind the curtains of her apartment, but my heart sinks as darkness glares at me. I silently scold myself for assuming she went home when there are a million other places she could have gone to, and it dawns on me that if she is not here I have no idea where to look for her. We have been working together for almost six months now, but this new dimension to our relationship only began a few weeks ago and I still know little about her outside of work. Apart from her love of Indian food and oral sex.

I do know that she feels safe. When I am with her all of the nervous energy I keep pent up inside deflates and a sense of calm settles in my stomach. My attraction to her was not immediate, it crept up on me slowly, unexpectedly. The first few weeks, after she had transferred to our unit, I was too distracted by Elliot's sudden leave of absence to notice her much, and when he decided to hand in his papers without ever reaching out to me, I wanted nothing more than to let anger consume me but exhaustion was all that I felt. I had expected more from him. Only then did it occur to me that I had never expected more from you. You and I had never been friends, but for the better part of a decade Elliot had been the only friend I had had.

I used to regard the battles you and I fought as a means to an end, taking the fiery passion from the squad room to the bedroom was what we did best. I don't think we ever made love. The predominant emotion that infused all of our time together was _need_. I needed you in a way I had never experienced before. Or afterwards.

_Need_. I remember that word rolling off my tongue so easily when I called you on nights I had actually gotten off work at a decent hour. I would tell you I needed you and would you mind coming over. My need for you was visceral, threatening to overwhelm me whenever you were close. On a few occasions, entire conversations about cases had been lost on me because I could not focus on anything but the increasing ache between my legs as I stared at that part of your thigh where your skirt had hitched, revealing soft, ivory skin which I had tasted the night before but already craved again. You never told me that you loved me, though, and neither did I. You told me you needed me to fuck you instead.

A delivery boy leaves her building and I slip into the hallway without ringing the buzzer. One of the light bulbs in the entryway has been broken for weeks and the light inside is scarce. I contemplate whether buzzing now could save me the pointless hassle of climbing five floors to her apartment in case she is not home. The elevator stopped working the day before yesterday and it has not been repaired yet. I know this because I climbed up this same stairway last night, carrying Indian take out in one hand and balancing her strawberry lassi and my decaf frappaccino in the other, and I ran down this morning to catch an earlier train so we would not arrive at work together. Fin is the only one who knows about us and I would like to keep it this way. For a little while at least.

We have not yet reached the stage in our relationship where it feels appropriate to exchange keys. Truth be told, I have no idea what she considers us to be. Neither one of us has breached the topic yet. Whatever Amanda and I have feels like more than some meaningless affair whose only purpose is to relieve the stress of everyday work and fill our nights with something other than insomnia. Still I cannot be sure of her intentions. If there is one thing I learned from my job, it is that even though psychology offers a great way to predict human behavior, every set of data has a standard deviation and there always is a margin of error. No matter how many experts we consult, some people will always remain entirely unpredictable.

She might be home, though, maybe she kept the lights switched off for a reason. After you left me the first time, I let darkness envelope me like a cocoon whenever I came home. Sitting in the dark became habitual. For months I felt allergic to sunlight, kept the blinds drawn and wore sunglasses to shield my burning eyes every time I stepped outside, even on days when the sky was overcast. Any light felt like too much light back then. I existed in the shadows of the memories your love had left me with, afraid to remember but unwilling to let them slip away completely. If the memories had subsided, there would have been nothing left of you.

Still I was determined to get through the five stages of grief as fast as I could and come out the other side, unscathed and whole again. Instead, I discovered that denial passed quickly, but circumventing the stages of anger and bargaining left more time for depression.


	4. Chapter 4

I decide to try my luck and let the heavy door fall shut behind me.

On the fourth floor I need to pause to catch my breath and while I am leaning against the cold concrete wall behind me I quickly go over the speech I prepared on my way over here.

"Hi."

A soft voice breaks the silence and I spun around, startled by the unexpected sound. Amanda stares at me, a questioning look in her eyes. She wears running shoes that look muddy, she must have gone running in the park. Her legs are bare except for a pair of black shorts that ends mid-thigh. The long-sleeved cotton shirt she is wearing clings to her breasts, the outline of her sports bra faintly visible underneath. She's dressed for much warmer weather than the winter conditions outside. Atlanta might still offer warm nights in November, but New York City is expecting its first snowfall next week.

"Hi," I mouth because my throat is suddenly parched and seeing her standing before me, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, little beads of sweat clinging to her forehead, her eyes wide and her lips trembling slightly, she looks so young and vulnerable that I am afraid I might break her. Exertion seems to have stripped her of her defenses.

The moment passes quickly, though, and I watch her walls slip back into place, her teeth clenching slightly and blue eyes narrowing as vulnerability gives way to feigned detachment. They are the same walls each of us needs to do our job without going completely insane, but I recognize that look because it is the same expression you always wore when we fought.

We continue staring at each other, awkward and uncomfortable, until she starts walking up to her door. Unlocking it, she asks, "You wanna come in?"

She catches me by surprise so I simply nod and follow her inside. I close the door and see her disappearing into the kitchen. Walking after her, I suddenly feel like an intruder and decide to stop inside the doorframe. She takes out the orange juice I brought her the other day, turns around and takes a gulp straight from the bottle. It is little things like this that tell me she has been living alone for a long time. We are alike that way.

She fixes her eyes on mine, shooting me a challenging look. I know she is waiting for an explanation, expecting answers I should have given her before you had the chance to put the questions in her head.

"Amanda, I'm really sorry for…what happened." My words hang in the empty space between us, and the ensuing silence amplifies the sinking feeling in my stomach. My eyes are pleading with hers now, but she holds my gaze long enough to make me wonder if she has even heard what I said. As my eyes drop down to her lips, though, I notice the slight quivering that betrays her cool composure. Still she remains silent, so I try again.

"I didn't want..., I didn't know that she would…do that…" This, of course, is a blatant lie and one I regret as soon as the words have left my lips.

"Oh, is that so?" She quips, not missing a beat. "Cause you seemed quite eager to follow her." Her voice sounds distantly amused now and I cannot decide if she is genuinely mocking me or masking her pain with snark.

Did anyone tell her who you were or did she make her own deductions from the way you walked into the room, commanding the space around you, dressed in impeccable clothes and high heels that were meant to convey authority rather than to entice? Lawyers dress that way, detectives never do.

"She was our ADA back when…before she….before she left. We were….she's…" I am fumbling for words because I am realizing that for the very first time I have no idea what you are to me anymore.

Amanda interrupts my train of thought.

"Your ex, I hope," she finishes my sentence, pain seeping into her voice. "I take it she's unaware of…" she pauses and looks back up at me, "us." That last word comes out as a whisper and her hand hovers in the air between our bodies.

I feel the sudden urge to ask her what "us" means for her, if she sees white picket fences, a dog and a cat, and the two of us sipping margaritas on a wooden front porch. Or is she talking about fucking away our nights, while spending our days chasing perps, trying to make it through each day without getting shot. When she says "us", is she talking about a future or about a futile stage of the present?

You were married to your job, and I was still young enough to believe I were, too. Only mine wasn't a marriage of love but of convenience. It paid the bills and gave me a sense of accomplishment; at least it did for a while. I would have liked to play house with you, though, more than I cared to admit even to myself. I craved stability when all you offered was futility, but compromising long-term happiness for short-lived highs seemed worth it at the time. It still sometimes does. Which is why I'm surprised that at Amanda's acknowledgment of whatever it is that she and I have, I find myself wishing that I could become more to her than I was to you.

"So…unless you made a hobby out of bedding colleagues and all that I am is your latest conquest, I guess I can live with…this one." She gives me an unsure smile that betrays the hint of confidence in her voice.

I know she wants to be brave and I can't help tears welling up in my eyes. How can she be more confident in me than I am in myself? And besides, I'm sure no one has ever written you off as "this one", but I don't know whether to be hurt by her assessment of you, of us, by dismissing our shared history with the wave of a hand, or whether to compliment her poise. But I don't get the chance to finish my thought.

She crosses the kitchen towards me in two long strides, and leaning up she brings her cheek to mine, the contact of our skin sending a shiver down my spin.

Her voice is low when she whispers: "I don't see you leaving any time soon, so let's just not talk tonight, ok?"


	5. Chapter 5

She's so close I can smell the remnants of her perfume. Mixed with the faint smell of her sweat it has a maddening effect on me. A desire I try to quench before it spreads, even though my body is desperate for contact.

While she is sliding the leather jacket off my shoulders and down my arms and then proceeds to hang it in the hallway, the thought of anyone else being this close to her lets a strong sense of possessiveness wash over me and I am startled by the sudden realization that I want her to be mine.

Still the sudden shift in mood has me too confused to move, so I just stand there, motionless, as she comes back up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, leaning her forehead against my back between my shoulder blades. Her breath is hot against my skin, the thin fabric of my clothing posing little barrier.

I shudder involuntarily as her right hand slips underneath the hem of my shirt and travels up the length of my stomach until it reaches my breast. She cups it, gentle at first, but her grip soon becomes more demanding. I hold my breath, trying to will away the fluttering in my stomach and the tingling sensation between my legs, but when Amanda's index finger brushes my nipple, my body greets her touch with a greedy need that frightens me.

Her fingers are skilled and I know she can undo me way too effortlessly. I can't let her do this now, though, not tonight. I feel too raw, too vulnerable to grant her that much power. I stifle a moan and resist the urge to press into her touch. Instead I take a step forward, grab her wrist and pull it out from under my shirt in one swift motion.

I've just spent the better part of an hour trying to come up with a valid excuse for what she had witnessed, some way of explaining to her who I used to be and who I don't want to be anymore, hoping and praying she would forgive me eventually. I came here expecting to get yelled at, not propositioned.

My confusion must show on my face as I turn around to face her, still clutching her wrist with my hand. Reluctantly I let go.

She said she didn't want to talk tonight, but I'm grateful when she does.

"I don't run to keep in shape, you know?" Her voice is soft but unwavering. "I run to clear my head. It helps me…process, get some perspective."

She pauses for a moment, absentmindedly biting her bottom lip.

"Look, we all got baggage." Amanda shrugs at her own statement. "I know you think I'm young, maybe even too young for you…, but trust me, I'm no innocent. I got history with people, too, so I get it, Liv, I really do. You think I came to New York for the weather?"

I have been so wrapped up in my own misery that I never even considered she might have run from someone, too.

"It's fine, you know. Big deal, your ex showed up and thought you were still single, still waiting for her. So what? I shouldn't have run, though, I should have stayed and given you the chance to explain."

She takes a deep breath before continuing, her voice now barely audible. "I'm sorry I ran out on you."

She looks up at me with hooded eyes and I can see the pain underneath the veil of professional detachment she, like me, tries to hide behind whenever someone or something threatens to get too personal.

Maybe she's right, though. Maybe it was presumptuous of me to assume she would not understand. We haven't even defined our relationship yet, but I still feel the heavy weight of betrayal sitting on my shoulders. I still feel like I owe her an explanation. But how should I explain to Amanda that in spite of my growing feelings for her, a part of me still yearns for your attention. Your desire. And that every time you came back, I welcomed you with open arms because I was relieved to feel your need for me in the urgency with which your hands roamed my skin and your lips bruised mine. Satisfied not to have been easily forgotten or replaced.

"Amanda, there's nothing you've done wrong." I reach out for her hand, lacing our fingers together. My gaze is locked with hers. "You don't have to apologize. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her sooner."

"Well…" her voice trails off and for a fleeting moment her eyes drop down to our intertwined hands. Her mouth curls up slightly as she looks back up at me and says, "You showed up here instead of going with her, so I guess that's gotta count for something, right?"

She gives me a half smile before standing on tiptoe to reach my face. Then her lips find mine and she kisses me, soft and chaste, but with an undercurrent of desire barely restrained.

The touch of her lips against mine uncovers a yearning I had not anticipated, and when she pulls back slightly, I answer her kiss with one of my own, leaning forward so that the curves of our bodies press into each other.

She tries to push back slightly and pin me against the doorframe, but I won't let her. I know she likes to be the one in control, which is why I'm relieved that tonight she doesn't protest when I back her up until we reach the kitchen counter, my mouth never leaving hers in the process. She gasps at the contact of her naked thighs with the cold tiles behind her and I'm so firmly pressed against her that I feel the resulting shiver run through her body.

Our kisses grow hungrier and our movements become more frantic as we pull on each other's clothes, desperate for more skin contact. My shirt joins hers in a messy pile on the ground, but when she yanks off my belt and tries to push down my pants, I stop her. She takes the hint, her hands moving back up and around my shoulders, drawing me into her for another hungry kiss. My hands drop down to her waist and I slide off her shorts. As her right leg wraps around my hips, I can feel the heat against my thigh, and my insides tighten, gripped with a mixture of pleasure and guilt.

This sense of urgency that has entered into our movements is much more reminiscent of what I had with you. Up until now Amanda and I have always gone slow, exploring each other's bodies as we got acquainted with the new landscapes before us. We have kept our guards up, at least to a certain extend. Her desire now, though, feels raw, uninhibited, and I quickly decide that I like this new side to her. Raw sexual desire is what I know best, dealing with emotions is what I've never been good at.

I find myself falling back into a familiar role, following an invisible script, and I'm glad when her body reacts to my touch the same way yours always did. For a second I wonder if Amanda has noticed the change in pace, but even if she did, she doesn't show it. If anything, our heated frenzy seems to make her more aroused than concerned and the guttural moan escaping her mouth when I spin her around and, from behind, push my right knee between her legs tells me she is much closer to her release than I expected.

I like being in charge and the sense of security it provides. Giving up control is what makes me uneasy; and what I hated most about our relationship was how completely out of control you made me feel. You loved losing yourself against my mouth, my hands, in the sensation of me dominating you. Sex was the only aspect of your life where you thrived on relenting power, and I was all too happy to help you unwind after a particularly stressful day. However, making yourself vulnerable in the bedroom meant you had to compensate in other areas.

You asked me once what my first experience was like. Instead I told you my second: In High School I got hit on by the cheerleading captain. She dated boys but fucked girls, only I did not know this when she took me home one evening and made me scream her name three times that night. I was young and naïve and believed I was her first. When I wanted to return the favor, she pushed my hand off her breast and extracted herself from my embrace. I wanted to believe that she was too shy to let me touch her and that was why she threw me out in the middle of the night without so much as a kiss goodbye. Every time her parents went away, she called me and I would show up on her doorstep like a lost puppy. It took me a year to realize her desire to dominate was greater than her desire to orgasm, and it took me more than a decade to recognize the dynamic of power play I had sought out in every single one of my relationships since.

Amanda's hand gripping my butt brings me back and it finally dawns on me that she needs this because she needs to be reassured that I still want her. Your looks intimidate most women and I know you turn heads wherever you go. Seeing us together must have unsettled her, no matter how nonchalant she tried to be about it.

My right hand sneaks down her stomach while my left finds her breast, squeezing it gently enough not to hurt but strong enough to let her know I have every intention of fucking any of her lingering doubts away. I hurriedly push her panties to the side and, finding a copious amount of wetness, let two fingers slip inside of her. Amanda's breath hitches as her body accustoms to my hand and delicious heat envelops me, gripping my knuckles and pulling me even further inside. She's panting now, and her head has dropped forward, her forehead resting against the kitchen cabinet. With each of my thrusts she pushes her hips back against mine, urging me on, moaning her approval. And, sensing her need for more, I add a third finger.

My left hand is still on her breast, cupping it, my fingers stroking and softly pinching her taut nipple. Little drops of sweat glisten on her neck and I lick them away, deliberately letting my teeth scrape her skin. She shivers at the contact, her response triggering a surge of wetness between my own legs. I stifle a groan by sucking on her flesh, hard enough to leave a mark, and her entire body goes rigid for a second.

I discovered the sensitive spot on your neck, close to your ear, by accident. You came fast and hard that night, and I thought I had discovered something great. I didn't expect applause, but neither did I anticipate the irritation you showed the morning after when you looked in the mirror and found the bright red mark reflecting back at you. Little did I know, you hated turtlenecks and dreaded scarves, because you had convinced yourself that anyone looking at you would know what you were trying to hide. After this, I confined my bites to places that would be hidden by clothes. I know you loved me branding you; you just never wanted anyone else to know about this side of the impeccable Miss Cabot.

At the first waves of her impending release I curl my fingers and press the base of my hand against her flesh, providing enough pressure to let her fall over the edge. She shudders from the force of her orgasm, her body vibrating, before her muscles go limp and she finally slacks against me. My hand on her breast stops moving, and instead I use it to steady her weight, holding her to me. I gently kiss her cheek and, brushing my lips over her jawbone, place another kiss next to her chin. My other hand is still nestled inside of her, holding perfectly still against the clasping of her pulsing aftershocks.

It takes her a minute or two to recover, then she turns around and puts her arms around my neck, pulling me down to meet her mouth in a lazy kiss.

"Come on, let me take you to bed," she whispers as I break our kiss, but I can hear her exhaustion despite the suggestive tone of her voice.

"Yes, please." I whisper my reply into her ear, unable to resist the urge to run my tongue along her earlobe.

She sucks in her breath at the contact. Then she captures my mouth in another kiss and I smile against her lips when she starts nudging me back towards her bedroom.


End file.
